


I Would Take A Whisper

by Kissing_Toast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Violence, Demon Dean is a dick!, Demon!Dean - Freeform, Demon!Dean has extra demon powers, F/M, Multiple POV's, Original Hunter Character, Sam is lonely, Torture, Well this went pear-shaped, idek..., like mind-reading, so much evil but so much fun, this went so dark and I'm not even sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissing_Toast/pseuds/Kissing_Toast
Summary: Dean woke up as a demon and Sam is trying to cure him. But loneliness drives Sam to some spontaneous choices and suddenly there's three hunters in the bunker.(Edited to add non-con tag as of ch 14, as this went places I didn't initially think it would.)





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before S10 aired, and I was disappointed with both the duration of Demon!Dean and with the direction he was taken. I've realized that I managed to channel a bit of Mark Pellegrino's Lucifer for Dean in this, but, ah well... I like anything that makes DD darker than he actually was (though the karaoke was hilarious!).
> 
> Goes AU after 9x23 but themes and elements are still kinda there since I'm rewriting this a few years later. Also, this was supposed to be a short little Sam/ofc fic and it turned into 10k+ words. What can I say? I can't write entirely PWP anything :P
> 
> Still a work in progress and I'll try to update chapters as soon as I've finished writing and editing them.

 

The abandoned house looks like a million others he's hunted ghosts in, or even squatted in. He finds the back door not only unlocked but rotted off it's hinges. A back-to-basics hunt is just what he needs to get his mind off things, but damned if it doesn't feel strange to be flying solo on this one. He can count on both hands the jobs he's worked without Dean since they got back on the road together after Stanford. Well, besides the year he spent without a soul, that is.

Before stepping through the jagged doorframe into the sea of blackness beyond, he stops, sawed-off hanging at his side but arm tense and ready to aim, and listens. The small woods surrounding the dilapidated building are alive with the usual night time sounds, there's the occasional sound of a car whooshing past from the distant road but the moonlight-greyed edifice in front of him gives no hint of anything. Cautiously, he steps up onto the back porch, so weather-worn that the boards sag slightly beneath his weight. He takes a breath and moves inside, letting the inky dark envelope him.

There’s a faint a sound from deeper into the house and in the blink of an eye his shotgun is raised, aimed, as he moves soundlessly to investigate. This is his first stop, casing the house where the haunted tales originated. Supposedly, the ghost of Tara Bloom, once land owner and proprietor of the orchard, was killed by her husband in a fit of jealous rage. The local legends say that she kills teenagers who trespass on her land. Dozens have gone missing over the years, and by the looks of all the graffiti, this must be party central for the town’s wayward teens. Everything from obscene drawings to occult symbols cover the walls, floors, even the ceilings.

He's made it through the kitchen, approaches the door leading to the hallway, sights further into the house with the sawed-off and slowly moves around the door jamb to clear the blind spot. Nothing. But before he can go any further he hears that sound again. Loud enough now that he can identify it as footsteps. To the left, the hall stretches towards the stairs and the front door. To the right is a doorway to what was probably once a study. The door hangs at a strange angle against the wall while moonlight filters in through the cracked or missing window panes. It's empty. Straight ahead is a door, paint warped and peeling, slightly ajar and as the slow creak-creak picks up again he realizes that it's coming from behind that door.

He moves back, plants his feet and raises the gun, waits as the door creaks open softly on hinges gone to rust. His finger twitches on the trigger, ready to send the ghost into oblivion. But it’s not Tara Bloom, it’s just a woman, so he eases his finger off the trigger. Her own handgun is half raised between them, a sawed-off hanging on a sling over her shoulder. There's no fear, only a honed type of wariness that's indicative of a hunter. She's kind of short – but who isn't next to Sam – dark hair, round face and he knows he's met her before but can't quite place her.

She squints up at him, like she's trying to make out facial features in the dim light. Then a look crosses her face. ”Sam?”

Her voice makes his memory click with recognition. ”Ally?”

”What are you doing here?” She lets the gun drop to her side. Sam does the same.

”Taking out a ghost... which I'm guessing is why you're here too...” He backs up a step.

”Yeah, burned her bones last night. Turns out, that wasn’t the ticket…”

”The fourth kid that got taken last night.” Sam offers. ”That's what brought me here. So, any luck finding the remains?”

”Not yet. I just got here though. You're welcome to help me look.”

They search through the house, top to bottom. Back in the basement they find a boarded up section of wall and just as Sam takes his first swing with the sledge hammer the ghost of Tara Bloom flickers into sight, knocks it from his hand and sends him flying against the opposite wall. A blast from Ally's shotgun blinks her out of sight but before she can pick up the sledge hammer and get a swing in, the ghost is back and throwing her into the same corner as Sam. Ally doesn't move after she hits the ground, but Sam has regained enough wherewithal to send a rocksalt blast straight into the ghost. He rushes back and swings the sledge hammer a half dozen times in succession, breaks through the wall and finds a forgotten collection of personal items. Mostly knick-knacks. He scans the items quickly and sees a creepy porcelain doll, remembers what Sarah told him years ago: human hair most likely, and on the white dress looks like dried blood. He's grabbed it and is fishing out his Zippo to set it ablaze when Tara Bloom appears again, not five feet in front of him. Her face is twisted in a mask of rage as she advances. He can't get the Zippo to light. It sparks over and over as he frantically thumbs the wheel. The ghost is about to grab him when a shotgun blast rings out in the dank, earthy space. She's gone.

Ally stumbles to her feet across the room and, just as Sam gets a flame, the ghost reappears, going for Ally this time. He ignites the hair which fizzles with damp as it burns, drops the doll to the floor and watches as the ghost contorts in a silent shriek, before combusting and disappearing.

”Thanks for the assist.” Ally wheezes as she regains her breath. ”Much appreciated.”

”No problem.” Sam's own voice is breathy.

They limp down the front steps into the cool night. Ally takes a deep breath and looks up at the starry sky.

”Nothing like a good old salt-and-burn, huh?” She laughs quietly, like she made a joke.

”Yeah,” Sam replies. ”It's been a while since I had one go down that easy.”

”Easy?” Ally turns to look at him with raised brows. ”Oh, yeah. You guys are into some much heavier shit these days aren't you?”

Sam doesn't look at her. It always makes him uncomfortable to be reminded that the larger hunter community knows what he and Dean are dabbling in. They’re practically celebrities and Sam never wanted that.

”Yeah,” he says again, not sure how much of the truth he should cop to. Not wanting to discuss any of it at all. ”Mostly demons lately.”

Ally swings the shotgun back over her shoulder. ”Hey, I'm not criticizing. You guys may have made some messes over the last few years, but damn if you haven't made up for it by saving the world a few times.”

Sam cracks a smile at that, surprised and gladdened that she’s one of the hunters who doesn’t hold a grudge

”Come on.” She gives his shoulder a playful punch. ”Breakfast's on me.”

 


	2. Sam

They're seated in a near deserted diner. Plates all but licked clean, drinking 4am coffee.

”You never told me how you got into hunting.” Sam tries for casual, but this is such a loaded topic for most hunters.

Ally shifts a bit. ”Not much to tell really. Most of us had some great tragedy that opened our eyes to the reality of what goes bump in the night. Same for me... ”

”I'm sorry, if it's too painful...”

”No, it's fine. I just haven't told anyone the truth about it in a long time.” A strange look passes over her face, there and gone. Not quite pain, not quite anger. Almost like she needs to think about what the reason actually is, like it confuses her. ”I lost my mom. Vampire. My step dad took up the trade, revenge mission, you know, the usual. It was me, him and my step brother. I was 16, he was 13. The rest of it kinda plays out like you and your brother's story. We drove around the country, killing the bad things.” She stops abruptly. Looks down at the cooling coffee in front of her.

Sam's not sure if he should let it go. But he's curious, he presses on. ”Still, you had a home at one point, a normal family.”

She sighs. ”Yeah. I did. My mom married my stepdad when I was 10. I got a shiny new brother, package deal. It could've gone a bad way, but we all got along, loved each other. It was nice... and safe... until it wasn't.” That same confused look flies briefly across her features.

”So, all three of you took up the life? After your mom...?” He doesn't want to say it out loud. He's not often reminded how lucky he is that he was too young to remember his own mother's death, but this is one of those times.

”Yep. We became nomads. Took out every fang we could find. Must have killed a few dozen of them before dad drew the short straw on a routine hunt. We'd been helping him for a while but this time he went solo. A few days went by. No calls, that wasn't his MO, so we went to look for him. Found him drained, nest empty. A god damned week before my eighteenth birthday.” She gives a short, bitter laugh. ”No more safe and sound. No more dad...”

”I'm sorry. It's never easy to lose both parents that young.” He pauses long enough to let her change the subject, but she's staring out the window like she's seeing the past instead of the sidewalk. ”But you were young enough to get out of the life. Did you stay in it to get the vamp that killed him?”

She drags her gaze away from the window pane, and her memories. ”Nah, vengeance was never really my thing. My brother took it harder though. Kept saying he'd track down that nest one day, kill the lot of them. I got it, I understood why he needed that to get closure. So I told him, once he hit eighteen he was free to go after whatever damned monster he wanted. His birthday rolled around and he was outta there so fast...” She downs the last of her coffee. ”We sort of lost touch for a while after that. I heard about a year later that he finally got his closure. Beheaded the whole freakin' nest once he found them. I just kept my head down and kept busy hunting anything that came along. It might sound cold, but... revenge never crossed my mind. Dad's death just made me more determined to be the best I could be at hunting. I sure as hell didn't want to go out like he did.”

Sam thinks that she can't be that great, since he got the drop on her. But then he feels bad for thinking that and reminds himself that for all she knew no one else would show up, no hunters at least. And a rowdy teenager or two wouldn't require a weapons discharge.

Ally shakes her head. ”I'm sorry. Once I start down memory lane I never shut up.”

”No it's fine.” One corner of Sam's mouth twitches up into a sad smile. ”We hunters need to confide in someone from time to time.”

”Yeah... Anyway. I've got a scratchy motel bed just calling my name. Time to sleep the sleep of a job well done.” She gets up, tosses some bills down on the table.

Thankfully Sam hasn't had to sleep on scratchy motel sheets for a while. But he remembers. You never really get used to it. He's happy he has the bunker. And though he doesn't call it home, doesn't call anywhere home, the pros highly outweigh the cons. Normally he wouldn't just invite any hunter over to the secret lair, but at least Ally doesn't seem to blame him for starting the Apocalypse. That's something he'll never live down. And something that makes him happy he ran into her instead of a hunter with a grudge. Beyond that though, he’s been stuck in that hole-in-the-ground with the Hunter Formerly Know As Dean for two months now and while cohabiting with a demon - especially one wearing the face of his brother - hasn’t turned out to be as murderous as he thought, he feels anchorless without the normal Dean to interact with. He misses normal human connection, even though he’s had precious little of it since Amelia disappeared from his life.

Thoughts of Amelia are still too raw in some respects to revisit. He loved her, sure – on some level – but time and retrospect have left him benumbed to her memory and he's gained enough distance to realize that she was mostly a replacement for his lost brother. Once he’d found her he understood how incapable he was of truly being alone. They’d both needed the closeness of another human being more than each other. On the heels of that thought comes another: Perhaps some human interaction will give him the charge he needs to push through and keep hunting for a cure. His window to call her back is rapidly closing and he makes a split second decision.

”Hey,” he starts. Ally turns to look at him. ”Where are you headed next?”

”Got wind of a shifter case in Oklahoma. Figured I'd hit the road after I get some sleep... And a shower.” She pauses. ”Why?”

”Me and my brother... we found a place. About an hours drive from here and since you're heading past that way...” He sees that she's questioning his motives for the invite. ”There's plenty of spare rooms. You're welcome to crash if you want. Get a break from the motels.”

She considers this for a few heartbeats. ”Sure,” she finally says with a smile.

 


	3. Sam

Sun is spilling over the landscape when both cars pull up outside the bunker. Sam climbs out of his hot-wired Buick, happy to be back at the safety of the bunker's relative black hole. On the other hand, it's not a comforting prospect, knowing what's waiting for him. Now he just prays Dean's still walkabout.

Ally climbs out of her car, parked behind Sam's, and stretches. She looks at the narrow-windowed brick building up a ways from the road.

”That it?” She asks politely but looks skeptical.

”No, down here.” Sam moves down the steps to the reinforced steel door, fishing the key out of his duffel.

Ally follows. ”It's... private.”

Sam turns. The look on her face shows that she meant to say something else before settling on 'private'. He can see the confusion, but she's trying to be polite and grateful. He doesn't take it personally, remembers his own skepticism the first time he and Dean came to the bunker, instead smiling reassuringly at her.

”You ain't seen nothing yet.” He unlocks the door. She follows him inside.

Once through the inner door he stops, moves to the side and waits to see her reaction. Confusion turns to awe as she looks out over the railing, down on the war room and beyond to the library.

Her eyes go wide before saying, ”Holy shit. You guys have your own freakin' Batcave!”

 

* * *

 

He watches her move around the library, read the titles on the books, even run her fingers over the spines reverently. It's a rush for any hunter, seeing all this information, all this help for their cause, collected in one place. Her awe is comforting, makes him feel less displaced amongst the dusty tomes.

She's made a cursory lap of the library when he sees her yawn.

“You wanna get some sleep?”

She looks at him like she forgot he was there, then smiles. “Yeah, I hit the thrity-six hour mark while we were driving back here.” She abandons the books and grabs her bag. “Where are the comfy beds?” She grins.

”I'll show you, come on.” Sam turns and walks further into the bunker.

As they wind through the labyrinthine halls he takes on the demeanor of a tour guide, pointing out all the amenities and any other worthy attractions which sends her into a fit of honest to God giggles. It feels strange to elicit laughter in someone, to let go and not be serious all the time, but he’s enjoying it more and more.

It's bare but comfortable. The bed is luxurious by Hunter standards. There's no funky smell. Neat and tidy, but sparse. A desk and a chest of drawers complete the room.

”Wow... this is like the Hunter Hilton!” She dumps her duffel bag on the bed and turns back to Sam. ”Is there roomservice and pay-per-veiw, too?” A grin spreads across her face.

”No,” Sam laughs, ”but there's Netflix, plenty of hot water, internet and a well stocked kitchen.”

She looks around the room and whistles. ”You guys won the damn lottery. You could start Hunter Hogwarts here.” She grins at him again and he can't help but smile back. It's a breath of fresh air, since Dean isn't Dean and Sam has no one else to really talk to.

 

 


	4. Ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I originally wrote this in 1st person OFC POV, and was really happy with how some of the scenes played out that way, I decided to keep some of her POV after the change (just changed it to 3rd person since I'll never be comfortable writing Sam or Dean in 1st, like ever!). I've marked the chapter titles with their names so you lovely readers can keep track.
> 
> This fic isn't as meticulous as my others by far, but I've been bad at posting (and indeed writing) for the last year and some change and just want to get stuff online :) I still have no idea where this story is actually going, heh.

Ally sits on the neatly made bed and takes a breath. She’s lucky to be here. Hunters are by virtue of their professions secretive at best, so she understands the honor it is to be sitting in this bastion of knowledge and protection. Truthfully she’s tired to the bone of living in a car, or an endless string of motels. She wishes more often than not to quit the game and settle down but she’s seen too much and could never shrug off what goes bump in the night. It’s heady stuff, knowing what’s out there, and it’s difficult for her to turn a blind eye. She’s envious of those who managed a return to normal, but sitting here she feels that maybe the most infamous hunters in the country have found an acceptable middle ground.

These thoughts become overshadowed by her impression of Sam. She hasn’t seen him for almost 5 years and he was very different then, perhaps because Dean wasn’t around. But then, she hasn’t heard a word about the elder brother since running into Sam 12 hours ago. And seeing Dean… well, it’s not exactly on the top of her to-do list. No, better to focus on Sam and a way to repay the kindness of letting her crash in their secret lair.

Sam seems sad, burdened. Something’s up and she hopes he’ll be alright. She always liked the brothers Winchester. They’re good people, great hunters. Always ready to do the job, to help out, and no egos getting in the way either.

For now, though, she needs sleep. It's an almost euphoric experience to be able to crawl into a bed and not worry about anything getting you. Not having to lay salt lines, or draw any wards; just lay down and sleep.

 

* * *

 

After a solid eight hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep Ally wakes up like a new hunter. Sam's brownie points a racking up and she's going to have to find something to show her appreciation before she hits the road. And she's definitely going to get his number before she leaves, being able to access this amount of knowledge while hunting is a boon, a damn well-needed one.

She's been wandering around the bunker, exploring, for a long while when she finally makes her way back to the library to find Sam with his nose in a book big enough to club someone to death with. He's somehwere in the middle and she wonders if he's read it from the beginning, or just looked up the one page. The image fits with her idea about the bunker being like a school for hunters and she smiles to herself.

“Hunter's Hogwarts, I'm telling you.”

He laughs as she sits across from him.

“One more comment like that and you'll be sleeping in the dungeon tonight,” Sam grins.

“There's a dungeon? How'd I miss that?”

His eyebrows go up at that. “Been making yourself at home, I see.”

She smiles sheepishly. “Couldn't help myself. I'm curious.”

He laughs again. “You sleep alright?”

“Hell yeah! Best night's sleep I've had in years.” He nods. “Got anything to eat?”

“Help yourself to whatever in the kitchen, just don't drink all the beer.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” She laughs again and goes in search of some food.

After a look through the fridge and pantry, she concludes that her stomach wants a meal, not breakfast food, and she's too lazy to cook something right now; probably wouldn't be able to work that stove anyway. She sticks her head back into the library.

“You eat already, Sam?”

“No, why?” Sam looks up from his book.

“Want take out? I'm craving something greasy.”

“Sure, any preference?”

“I was thinking pizza. That alright?”

“Fine with me. There's a great place a few blocks from here. Just take a right when you hit the main road.” He returns to his book.

“Thanks. I'll be back with grub in a bit then.”

 

* * *

 

The pizza is indeed great and it distracts Sam from his entranced reading for a while. She's enjoying acting like a normal human being for a few hours and while she respects that his research is important, she wants to monopolize his attention for a while longer. It's only 5 pm and she slept so late she knows she'll be jazzed up for half the night again.

During their dinner the furrow between Sam's brows finally smoothes out and he even cracks a few smiles at her shitty jokes. She still has a feeling that some great weight is on his shoulders, but it's nice to have some normal interaction with a person that isn't driven by manipulation or subterfuge. If she pretends hard enough she could even imagine that she's back home, having a family dinner. That thought reminds her.

"Where's Dean? Haven't seen him all day."

"He's taking care of some stuff. He'll be back later." A look passes across Sam's face and she hopes something bad hadn't happened to Dean that he's covering for. Dean isn't exactly her number one fan, and she isn't entirely disappointed that he's not present, but he's still a good guy and she doesn't wish anything bad for him. Still, it's obvious that Sam doesn't want to talk about his brother so she decides to change the subject.

 


	5. Sam

Sam hopes he's not being too morose for Ally but it's hard to entirely disconnect from the shitstorm of his existence right now. It's a gamble reading the books in front of her, but she knows demons are their bag lately and it shouldn't really raise any eyebrows if he's brushing up on the lore. He's eternally greatful when she drops her questions about Dean and changes the subject.

She leans forward, eyeing him sarcastically and says, “You up for a game of poker?”

His eyes flit to the cleavage, now perfectly framed between her arms, that pulls some kind of string attached to his abandoned libido and suddenly he’s very up for it. But then he feels bad for even entertaining the possibility. She’s distraction at best right now, though he did counsel Kevin many moons ago about how their job is so often a marathon and not a sprint, perhaps he should be taking his own advice. Regardless of that niggling voice in the back of his head saying he could benefit from getting laid his focus needs to be on curing Dean; and Dean and sex in the same thought stop any blood from flowing further south.

“Sure,” he coughs and retrieves a deck of cards.

After he’s returned and dealt the first hand she makes a show of inspecting her cards, selecting a few to exchange, changes her mind and taps her finger against her lips while thinking. He watches this silently for a minute, a smile eventually tugging at the corner of his mouth. The similarities to how Dean used to be lull him into a sense of comfort, make him feel grounded again for the first time in months.

They play a few more hands and he wins all but one in which he hands her the win by declining to take new cards. She laughs at his sportsmanship admitting, “I was never good at poker,” before requesting that he help her make a call on the next hand dealt. He moves around the table, leaning over her shoulder to inspect the cards she holds up. Her hair smells lovely, like flowery shampoo and woman. He has to focus hard on the cards she's holding and not letting his gaze slip to her breasts.

“Keep the high cards, toss the rest,” he advises before beating a hasty retreat to his own chair again. He mentally kicks himself for being this weak-willed. He's stronger than this, dammit, but perhaps dealing with his demonic brother is taking more of a toll than he initially thought. He charges through another half hour of painfully easy poker and then politely bows out.

”I'm gonna go catch some Z's. Thanks for the company.” Hopes is isn't too brusque but suspects he might need a cold shower before he gets any sleep tonight.

 

* * *

 

The next morning they're both up and about at a more civilized hour, she's even made coffee before he makes it to the kitchen. There's still no sign of Dean, no word from him, and Sam hopes that Ally will be able to move on before his brother shows up. He left sometime in the fourty-eight hour window that Sam was in Nebraska and he suspects that after another fourty-eight he could come back any time. That thought makes him aware of how tense he is, always on edge not knowing when Dean will be back. He mostly stays out of Sam's hair, but there's a noticable tension in the bunker that has mercifully dissipated since he got back with Ally.

He's showered and dressed and on his third cup of coffee when his phone rings. It's Rudy, calling to ask for help with a witch case since he's stuck chasing some ghouls in Nevada. Sam's only a couple of hours away and agrees to take the job. He asks Ally to help when she shuffles in, apparently not as much of a morning person.

“Just came over the wires. Three dead just north of Kansas City, seems witchy. You up for another hunt?”

She lights up like a christmas tree, and he remembers still having that enthusiasm about hunting the low-level stuff. “Let's roll!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know bugger all about poker (can you tell?), so I just made crap up. It's only filler anyway though :P


	6. Ally

Being asked on another hunt with Sam was very welcome. Not only for the help of another pair of eyes, but for the fact that she's growing increasingly fond of him. She's got her bag in one hand and sunglasses in the other. She's ready to hit the road.

“Just gotta grab my computer.” Sam comes hurrying back with his own bag and heads into the library to unplug and pack up his laptop, but the shrill of his cell phone stops him. He answers it and stills. He murmurs something to the person on the other end, moves further into the library, out of ear shot as Alley waits by the stairs leading up to the door.

Sam's quiet conversation gets loud after a few moments, and she catches “not yourself”, “dangerous” and finally “Dean”. He hangs up with a sigh.

“Change of plans,” he steps out of the library, dumping his bag irritatedly on the map table. “I gotta head to Wichita and take care of some stuff. You good taking out this witch solo?”

Ally has a bad feeling about Sam taking off after what she heard but she's not afraid of a little witch action. She agrees and heads out.

 

* * *

 

The witch's house looks like any other in small town suburbia, like a soccer mom and her 2.5 kids could walk out at any moment. But Ally's not fooled. She's traced the mysterious woman back here and she intends to dispatch her as efficiently as possible.

All goes well until the witch pulls a double whammy by flicking Ally's gun away and mumbling a spell. It sounds like latin, but Ally only catches a few words, too preoccupied with her imminent demise. Nothing happens. She starts to think that Sam Winchester might be a lucky talisman and moves in on the wicked bitch, who just smiles darkly as a wave of pain wracks Ally's body.

"That's just a taste. You'll be dead soon enough. I intended that spell for the Winchesters but you can give them a message for me. Tell them: there's a new bitch in town and she's not as friendly as her sisters."

The pain has receded to a staticky tingling and Alley takes a shaky step towards her gun, eyes on the witch.

"Better hurry." She says just as Ally picks up her gun from the corner. "The pain'll be back soon. And you're gonna die screaming."

Ally crawls back to her car and drives.

 

* * *

 

The door swings open silently on well-oiled hinges. Ally's left leg is all but gone and she crashes against the door so it clangs against the wall. As she reaches the landing a clumsy kick of her heel makes the bottom step sing in noisy reverberation, she struggles towards the next door. She's straining to hear anything as the last hums of her noisy entrance fade, hoping that she won’t die on the steps while Sam sleeps. But she’s made enough noise to wake half the continental US by this point.

After a fortifying breath she jerks the door open, throws herself into the dim light beyond. Her left arm went numb and useless about an hour ago, now her right is starting to fail as well, so she gets as good a hold on the bannister as she can and uses the small pinpoints of multi-colored light to navigate into the darkness below. The going is slow, fumbled and painful, and those buttons and dials on almost century old equipment offer the same weak sheen as the stars in the heavens on a clear night with no moon. It’s tough but she makes it to the bottom, sweating and shaky, vision blurring at the edges.

“Sam!” She screams with a final burst of energy, voice cracked and trembling, then collapses. It seems like an eon passes before she hears footsteps, sees a dim shape move towards her and kneel above.

“Ally! What happened?” Sam’s voice but it sounds like he’s speaking from another room. Her hearing is going almost as fast as her eyesight.

“Spell." She croaks. " _Liberate tu… sangelis… sum nex…_ something like that.” A cough wracks through her, wet and phlegmy; blood stains her lips and the world goes black.

 

 


	7. Sam

“She dead?”

Sam whips around from Ally’s unconscious body. Dean stands in the library archway, arms folded across his chest, face barely illuminated by the myriad red switches, looking bored and positively hellish. Sam suppresses a shudder at the ironic accuracy of that thought.

“No,” he answers, tearing his eyes away from the thing that used to be his brother. “Just out. You wanna help me move her?”

“Pssht!” Dean sneers, coming up behind Sam as he hoists Ally into his arms.

“Nice, Dean…” Sam retorts irritably but ignores his brother in favor of hurrying Ally back to the same spare room she slept in a few days ago.

Once laid out on the bed he checks for wounds, lifts her eyelids to check her pupils. He pulls off her jacket and rummages through the pockets, finds receipts, a few coins and a lighter but nothing helpful. It’s his fault she’s dying in front of him. He invited her here, told her about the witch, let her go alone.

“Better hurry, Sammy.” Dean speaks low from behind him.

“Shut up.” Sam replies coolly without turning around. He’s scrambling to find a pulse. It’s there, weak and thready but there.

“You’re loosing her, Sam.” Dean states, voice closer than before.

“No.” Sam takes a breath, tries to hold that pulse beneath his fingers like it will help.

“She’s gonna die!” Dean taunts, quiet and menacing, at Sam’s ear.

“No!” Sam looks Dean square in the eyes, still human yet not. “If you’re not gonna help, then get the hell out!”

Dean smirks, eyes flicking to black. Sam flinches but his brother has turned away, buried his nose against Ally’s neck like a vampire in an Anne Rice novel. He turns back a second later, careful not to touch her as though she’s contagious.

“It’s in her blood. Strong and deadly. That witch knew her shit.” He wipes his hands down the front of his shirt, removing non-existant germs. “You got a few hours before she boils up,” he shrugs and walks out.

Sam pulls in a ragged breath, thinking what to do.

 


	8. Ally

A voice drags her slowly out of the blackness, a note of urgency. She hears _Hold on... too hot... down_ before the blackness swallows her again.

The next time she's rustled from the dark nothingness of fever she manages to open her eyes. Light stabs through her retinas but she can register that she's in a bathroom, tries to lift her head but it's too much effort and instead lets it fall back against the cool porcelain of the sink.

A thud makes her crack her eyes open to see Sam pulling off his shoes and dropping them on the tiled floor. His shirt is already gone and she wonders fuzzily why the shower is running behind him. She doesn't have to wonder long before he hoists her off the floor, causing a faint nausea to roil in her stomach, and maneuvers them into the shower. The shock of cold water kills the sick feeling for an instant before it comes rushing back on a wave of pain in her skull that's akin to having a chainsaw work its way out from the inside.

The cold water succeeds in bringing her fully to the surface of consciousness, though she wishes it hadn't. It doesn't take long to start shivering and she imagines Sam would be too if he wasn't straining to keep her on her feet. Nausea threatens to bring the contents of her stomach up her throat so she presses her cheek to Sam's cold chest and it helps. Closing her eyes helps even more. Perhaps she falls asleep and dreams, or otherwise she's delirious with fever, because suddenly there's blood. A dark room, middle of the night, heartbeat pounding in her ears. She turns the corner into a room painted crimson with people's insides. The vision blurs and then she's in a forest, should be running but she's frozen. Halted in her tracks by the mauled body of a hunter. A growl sounds not far behind, a shot takes it out and she's on her knees, shaking amongst the leaves. Another vision. This time a dank basement. Water drips from a pipe. It's like a metronome, a ticking clock, a telltale heart. Her telltale heart. The creature floors her before she can register what she's seeing. It takes out the man. His screams echo off the walls then cut off abruptly in a gargled whimper. Alley knows she's next. Her heart is beating too hard, she can taste it at the back of her throat. Faster and faster it beats. Her vision blurs and goes black. Is this the end?

The rush of icy water is unrelenting. She's coming back to herself in fits and starts but the memories of years ago hang on like angry ghosts. When she opens her eyes the image of that last memory is superimposed over her vision, like an amber sheen to cover the world. The bitter remnant of another time and place.

Reality seems to have re-aligned itself when Sam bursts into flames. She can feel the heat, see the skin char, struggles feebly to get away but something's wrong. He's not screaming, not reacting to the pain. Again her heart beats too fast, too hard. This time an all too real thud behind her ribs. Fear crawls up her throat, building towards a scream she can't get enough breath to make. Blackness sucks her under again.

 


	9. Sam

He’s on page ninety-three of the Practioner’s Guide to Exorcism when she finally stirs, fights to untangle from the blankets and, when she notices him, gives a squinty, hungover look of confusion.

"What the hell happened?" She tries in a raspy voice, gets one hand free and scratches her head.

"That witch you went after put the whammy on you." Sam closes the heavy tome in his lap.

She looks around, then looks at him with a raised eyebrow, "How long have you been sitting there?"

He smiles. "Only a couple of hours. Wanted to make sure the cure worked."

"And you decided to do a little light reading?" She squints at the cover, trying to make it out.

"Oh, ah, no." Sam hurriedly puts the book aside, out of view. "Just a little side project."

"Okay." She gives a lopsided shrug, pulls herself up against the headboard, winces at some lingering pain or discomfort. "What spell was it?" She asks after a period of silence.

"Blood vengeance spell. Hits the body hard, causes weakness, paralysis, eventually you boil up."

"So it's like a magical tick bite?"

"Sorta. And a witch needs some serious mojo backing her play to pull it off. This magic is ancient and it taps into the soul to get power. It pulls up the guilt that weighs heaviest on your soul, using it to overwhelm and eventually kill a person."

She gets this look on ger face all of a sudden, two parts shock, one part horror. "Shit!"

"What?"

"That spell. The witch meant it for you."

"Me?"

"You and Dean."

"Wait. Run that by me again. How do you know that?"

"After she hit me, she wanted me to give you a message. 'There's a new bitch in town and she's not as friendly as her sisters."

"Shit." Sam echoes and runs out the door. He has to get ahold of Dean and let him know to watch himself. This isn't a high level threat, but if this witch finds his brother and discovers what he is, it'll spread through the monster community like wildfire. Sam's been trying to keep Dean's demonism on the down low for weeks now; so far, he's succeeded.

He pulls out his cellphone on his way to his room, closes the door behind him and waits for his brother to pick up. Dean took off again last night after Ally came back and Sam has no idea how long he plans to be MIA this time. He's not exactly begging for his brother to come back right now, but he needs to inform Dean of what's happened.

“What, Sam?” Dean sounds irritated when he finally answers.

“Ally just woke up, that spell she got hit with, it was meant for us. Some witch that wanted us to know she's getting vengeance for her 'sisters'. Probably from that case we worked about six months ago in Scranton.”

“So?” Dean can barely be heard over the thundering music in the background and Sam suspects he's more interested in the lapdance he's getting than in any kind of precautionary measures.

“So, keep an eye out and whatever you do, don't let that bitch find out about your new peepers, alright?” Sam's testy now too. If only Dean would be a bit more careful, he'd sleep a lot sounder.

“Whatever. You boned hunter junior yet?” Dean laughs at him deprecatingly.

“Just be careful, Dean." Sam implores wearily, ignoring the question, and hangs up.

Dean's being difficult, Ally almost died, and Sam is caught somewhere in the middle. He's got literally nothing to do but find a cure for Dean right now, but his brother's behaviour has left a bad taste in his mouth. He needs to clear his head from everything and _everyone_ , so he tells Ally he's gonna head out for a while and leaves.

 


	10. Sam

He's coming down the stairs with a bag of groceries, walking slow while checking his phone, when, as he approaches the kitchen, he hears voices. Sam's been concerned about these two intermingling since Ally got to the bunker, it figures Dean would choose the forty minute window for Sam's supply run and minor melt down to come back.

Dean's 'condition' isn't something he wants Ally, or anyone else, to actually know about. So he slows further and creeps towards the jamb silently.

“God, do you drink that stuff for breakfast?” He hears Ally say, after which the fridge opens.

“Are you concerend about my eating habits now?” Dean asks, a note of heat in his voice, as the sounds of Ally finding breakfast drift into the hall.

There's a silence after which Ally asks, “What time is it?”

“11.05” Dean pauses, “a.m.”

Sam can hear the demon in his brother's voice, maybe from years of knowing him, maybe from merely knowing that he's no longer Dean. He holds his breath and hopes Ally just thinks he's being surly.

“Where's Sam?” She asks after another lengthly silence.

Sam hears Dean sigh and the clink as he puts his glass down. “Out.”

At this point Sam wonders if he should intervene, make his presence known. But there's a sick curiosity within him to “field test” his brother's otherness, see if the surliness can pass the honed senses of a seasoned hunter.

“So, are you gonna just leave now?” He's still deciding when Dean makes the choice for him by dropping a bombshell.

“What?” Ally sounds genuinly perplexed.

“Well, you're out of danger. Now it's time for you to cut and run. Just like before.” The last words are so deep and quiet that Sam barely hears them.

“That's cold...”

“Well, it's your style right? _Leaving_ people? Only thinking about your _self_?”

Her anger is immediate. “First off: go screw yourself, are you _still_ pissed at me for the job we worked together _ten years ago?_ I though we cleared that up? Secondly: go screw yourself, I said I was sorry. I came _back_... and thirdly, what's eating you? You're Miss PMS since you got back. _What_ did I do?” An exasperated sigh ends that little tirade.

There's more silence, and Sam can only imagine what Dean might answer.

“Why are you here?” Dean asks instead.

“Because Sam offered me a place to crash.” She replies nonchalantly.

Dean’s chuckle drifts out into the hallway, like tangible evil seeping into one's pores. Sam wonders how Ally can not sense that, but perhaps he only reacts because he knows what’s inside Dean.

“And then he saved your life.”

“He did.”

“Don’t you think he deserves something for his troubles?” At her silence he continues. “A little show of appreciation.”

Sam knows his brother, even this demonic asshole version, well enough to recognize the innuendo in his words. But he prays that Ally doesn't, while groaning inwardly and praying that Dean doesn't spell it out. Let her think he just expects her to give him a 'thank you', a bunch of flowers maybe, because being set up by his brother under the circumstances is too awkward for Sam to deal with. Let alone being set up with Ally. She's lovely, and there are some residual memories of _something_ happening back when he was running soulless, but he wants to keep those memories as vague as possible and he hopes Ally doesn't entirely remember it either. He's not the same guy he was then and he can't offer her the same things.

“Ok, I'll make sure and thank him.” Ally says like it's the stupidest request in the world, and Sam thanks his lucky stars that Dean can be somewhat discreet at times.

That's when Sam chooses to walk in, car keys jangling to end round one.

“What's up, guys?” He's all jovial nonchalance, but Dean gives him a look.

“Nothing!” Dean snaps and stands up so abruptly that his seat would have tipped over if it wasn't attached to the table. He leaves the kitchen, grabbing a chocolate bar from the grocery bag as he passes Sam.

The tension in the room drops by about a million points.

“What was that all about?” Sam asks as he puts groceries away.

“PMS?” Ally jokes, but Sam knows the truth of it.

He turns around, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Nothing... Is Dean doing okay? He seems... I don't know, just angry...” Ally is wrapping her words in concern, like a big winter coat to hide the ugly hand-me-down's underneath. And this is the point where Sam's pulse spikes a bit. She's obviously noticed something off about Dean, but she's deflecting. And that reminds Sam of the clandestinely aquired knowledge of their unknown history.

 

 


	11. Ally

Ally’s wandering through the hallways of the bunker trying to clear her head after speaking with Dean. She never had any intention of being intimate with _either_ of them, let alone pay for Sam's help with some kind of intimate favor, but somehow Dean managed to plant that seed in the back of her brain and she can’t shake the feeling of being whammied again - or the images that accompany it.

She comes across Sam, table piled high with books, in the library. He smiles in acknowledgement as she seats herself across from him.

“Sam…”

He looks up from the book he’s pouring through.

“I just wanted to say how grateful I am for your help. Saving my life, letting me stay here… I just - thank you.” She smiles awkwardly.

He looks at her for a few moments. “Don’t mention it.” he smiles back.

She lets out a breath. “Need some help?”

“Nah, thanks. Just a little side project.”

“So you said.” She flips the book closest to her around, _Caldwell’s Complete Encyclopedia of Demonism_.

“Really it’s not even that important.” He smiles again but doesn’t look quite as chill as he’s trying to sound.

She highly doubts that. Every spare moment since she got here Sam has been flipping through these books. And she gets that it's private, but damn is she curious to know exactly who all the exorcism stuff is for. Dean's words from earlier pop up in her head again. How anyone could find him discreet is beyond her. The man breathes lechery like others breathe oxygen. She found it charming when she was 20, now at 30 she's not as swayed by it. But she's still red-blooded and wanting at times. And she remembers her tryst with Sam from years ago like it was yesterday, thanks the powers that be that she can keep a straight face no matter how spun she is being around him again. Maybe he'd want a repeat performance? But then she looks at the concern creasing his brow lately and realizes that he's a very different man to the one she shacked up with for a long weekend in Tennessee all those years ago. And she knows, because hunters hear things and hunters talk. She's heard about the heavy shit these two have been going through lately and she remembers how they both just droppped off the map about three years ago; and how they dropped back onto it just as easily.

Ally mentally shakes the thoughts away, accepts that if it's not meant to be it won't happen and goes for broke. She'd rather swallow her pride and be friends with the best hunters around today than flounce off over one rebuff. She's not a girl any more. “Anything else I can help with?” She tries to pitch her voice in a seductive way, even curl her lips in what she hopes could be construed as a come-hither smile; but she probably only looks like she's having a stroke...

“No, I think we’re good.” Sam doesn't even look up, though she sees the tightening around his eyes before he replies.

She taps her fingers on the table, admitting defeat. “Ok then.” _I'll just go pack my stuff_ she adds silently, but plasters on a smile. So, Dean's an ass, she thinks, not believeing how stupid she was to take his 'advice' and try to proposition Sam. Then the oddness of the elder Winchester creeps into her thoughts and she stops.

“Hey, Sam?” She turns in the archway. “Is everything okay with Dean?”

Sam blinks at her before “Yeah, he’s fine.” But he’s forcing it, she can tell there’s something off, and the truth is bound to be a doozy. Though she understands his choice to not air dirty laundry in front of the guests, she still wishes she could help. If something truly is wrong with Dean, helping is the least she can do after all Sam has done for her.

 


	12. Ally

Ally's packing her duffel when Dean appears in the doorway.

"What did you see?"

"Huh?" She asks without looking at him.

"When you were dying."

Ah. It figures he'd ask that question, what with how nosy he's being lately.

"I didn't see anything." She lies – because she remembers, all too well.

Dean walks in and hovers behind her, like a line of heat along her back, except he's cold.

"Liar." He whispers into her ear.

She shudders.

"Not lying." Ally shrugs, voice sure but she knows her face would reveal the fear and conflict she's feeling.

Dean shifts behind her. "Feeling guilty?" He whispers in her other ear and he's crowding so close now that her only exit would be crawling onto the bed. She stands her ground.

"Sure you are.” He continues. “I can smell it on you. Leaving a fellow hunter to die 'cause you were too scared to face one little monster..."

"Two." She tries for indignance but falls short.

"Even _I_ didn't know about the other one." He lets out a bark of laughter and she's really leaning away from him now, hiding the shake of her hands by hugging them to herself.

She takes as discreet a breath as she can, tries to be as blasé as she can. "What is your problem? Why are you busting my chops about this now?”

"Me? I'm over it. Couldn't give a crap. But you? You're still haunted by it. Eating you up inside, isn't it?" He shuffles impossibly closer, moulds himself to her back, and despite the absurdity of it the only thing she can think is that she wishes it was Sam instead. “Bet I know what else is eating you.” His breath tickles her ear, and his hands, which have been hanging at his sides this entire time, come up to rest on her hips, fingers curling into her skin just enough to make a point.

She shudders again, stronger this time and it's just as much from fear as from a sick kind of excitement.

“You're wrong,” she practically chokes.

“Nuh-uh.” He retorts gently. “I could smell the tension, coming off you in waves, since you got here.”

He pulls her hips back towards him ever so slightly. “And now..? I don't think you'd care which of us you got, as long as you got something nice and hard shoved inside you.” He nips at her ear and she shoves him away. He lets her and she knows it.

Instead of trying to yell and scream, which she couldn't do anyway over the hard beating of her pulse, she just continues shoving clothes into her bag with angry, jerky movements. She feels him hovering behind her, just out of reach. When she's done, she whirls around and stomps past him, heading for the exit. She slings the bag over her shoulder and strides through the halls. If Dean Winchester, or whoever the hell he thinks he is now, thinks he can bully her like that, he's sorely mistaken. Sam turned her down, now Dean's making passes at her. Regardless, she's overstayed her welcome and is 90% sure she's fit enough to drive.

As she storms past the library in a huff, Sam snaps to attention and calls after her. When she doesn't answer he yells, "Dean, what'd you do?", before chasing her towards the stairs.

"Ally! Wait up! What happened?" He's on the bottom step when she stops, a few above, and turns to him, tries to calm down and not yell at him for what his brother did, and for her own insecurities.

"Nothing! I just gotta go." Dean appears behind his brother, in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. Climbs the steps like he's on a Sunday stroll, face relatively neutral but just this side of smug.

"Missed your chance," he breathes, but she hears it and so does Sam, who turns to his brother. Ally starts down the stairs, pointing aggressively at Dean and yelling, "Screw you! What the hell is your prob-" but she doesn't get the rest of that sentence out because her feet go out from under her and she hits the stair hard on her butt, skidding down the last three steps and colliding with Sam. She almost knocks him over like one solitary bowling pin, but he's steady, despite his height, and swings around to help her up.

Her heartbeat is racing, her left ass cheek hurts and she's pretty sure her face is flaming with embarrassment, but she gets to her feet and points at Dean again, who's quietly chuckling, arms folded across his chest. " _You_ are an asshole!"

"Did you hurt yourself?" Sam asks.

"No, - _ow_ \- I'm fine." She insists. The shock of her tumble is wearing off but she's a bit shaky, though none the worse for wear. She untangles the bag's shoulder strap from her arm and pulls it back onto her shoulder with a huff. "I'm leaving." Her anger has cooled and now she just feels like an idiot. Her indignant exit ruined by a slippery staircase.

"Let's at least get you some ice. Did you hit your tailbone?" Sam ushers her towards the kitchen and she follows, metaphorical tail between her legs.

She had been so hell bent on leaving, but now she just wants to hide. She feels like a child but accepts the bag of frozen peas and presses it against her butt with a grunt. It's going to hurt like a bitch in the morning.

"You landed pretty hard, are you sure you're okay?" Sam asks again, trying and failing to hide his smile.

"I'm fine." She says again, sounds like the same broken record as Sam every time she's asked about his brother. But the world is still a bit fuzzy around the edges and she now knows that Dean is anything but fine. He's always been a player, but the stunt he pulled was way past his usual MO for seduction. And his laughter at her fall, that's not the guy she knew.

“Come on, stay a bit longer. I know Dean's being a dick, but it's nice having a new face around.” Sam smiles kindly at her, no hint of anything other than friendship.

“Fine, but tomorrow I'm taking off.”

Sam gives her a skeptical look but nods.

 


	13. Sam

He's been holed up with his research and a bottle of Jack since Ally went back to her room with the bag of peas. He's glad Dean cleared out for a while and hopes he'll be out all night, Sam could do with the peace and quiet. It's been a long day; first he overhears Ally and Dean's conversation, which he doesn't really know how to feel about, then she tries offering to pay in kind for him curing her after the witch attack – a job she wouldn't even have been on if it wasn't for him. Then to top it all off Dean did something – and Sam can probably guess what - that made her storm out cursing his name, and injuring herself in the process. She's been screwed over royally since getting to the bunker barely a week ago, and Sam feels like he's the cause.

This is why he doesn't connect any longer, why he doesn't let the mess that is his and Dean's life spill over onto anyone else. He can't deny that it's been fun having her around; he's needed a distraction, no matter how frivolous, to help him get his focus back on curing Dean. But all of it pales in comparison to the hurt that comes with it. He doubts she's enjoyed staying in the bunker with them, he hopes she's not too pissed to come visit or help on another case down the road, and he knows that whatever self restraint he's been showing is slowly dwindling. He's not an idiot, there's no love spared, and there's no chance of anything more, but just having a woman around – one that's not here because of his brother – makes him realize how much he's sacrificed on a personal level lately. That level that encompasses the things that even Dean can't touch, or change, or even really understand about him.

“Penny for your thoughts.” She pulls him out of his own head, standing at the end of the table, smiling at him. At least her mood's improved since Dean left.

“Nothing.” Sam smiles weakly.

”Nightcap before crashing?” She asks.

Sam lifts his glass from behind a stack of books, “Way ahead of you.”

“Mind if I join?” She takes the chair next to him, sitting gingerly.

He pulls the bottle from the floor by his chair, already missing about half it's contents, and puts it and his glass down in front of her. She raises a brow and looks at him over the bottle before pouring. He just smiles again, perhaps a bit sad, perhaps a bit wistful, and maybe even a bit lusting. He's no light-weight when it comes to booze, but he normally sticks to beer. Hasn't polished off a bottle of whiskey since the night Dean's eyes turned black. He pushes that thought away in a hurry, helps it along with a swig from the bottle.

Instead his head fills with memories of the past week, of her, and he stands abruptly intending to leave. His traitorous body sways and he doesn't even make it one step.

“Sam?” Her hand on his thigh is like a brand, heat from her touch going straight to his groin. And he's pretty sure she's just trying to steady him but when he meets her eyes he's lost and leans down, down slowly towards her.

Perhaps it's liquid courage coursing through his veins, or perhaps its just a natural culmination of recent events, might even be inevitable after going so long without, but when their lips meet he hauls her out of her chair and perches her atop a pile of books on the table in front of him. This puts her at a perfect height for table sex but she winces and he remembers her injury. So he hoists her up and swings around, backing them up against one of the concrete pillars.

Her legs are around his waist now and he has to shift his grip to her ass, making her groan, but she doesn't falter in kissing him. Her hands run through his hair and it makes him shiver, he'll never admit how much he likes it when girls do that. He's never been the submissive type in bed, but when they grab hold of his hair like that it gives the illusion they can manhandle him however they like, it's a turn on for sure.

When Ally's hands snake between their bodies to get at her jeans, he sets her down, letting her shimmy out of them and her underwear. She starts on his belt next and as soon as he's unzipped he's lifting her back up and grinding against her. No preliminaries now, he’s moving his underwear out of the way and pushing inside. Her head smacks back against the pillar and she moans so beautifully. He buries his face in her neck and starts moving with a purpose.

A moment or an eon later she's shuddering against him and he catches her mouth for one more kiss, moaning his own release into her mouth. They stay wrapped up together, panting.

In the charged silence that follows a clap rings out. His head snaps towards the doorway, where Dean stands applauding and Sam instinctively spins them around, setting her gently back on the floor, tucking himself away and mighty thankful that his jeans are still clinging to his hips so he's not flashing his bare ass to his brother.

"Didn't think you had it in you, Sammy." Dean's hands fall to his sides as he saunters towards them.

Sam turns to face him, pushing Ally behind him, as much to hide her nudity as to protect her from the demon. His cheeks feel like they're on fire and isn't that just the way? Thirty-something and still embarrassed as hell because his brother walked in on him post coitus. Though the real Dean wouldn't have stuck around, he'd have apologized and discreetly slunk away. This Dean is approaching them like it’s his turn, something that sets off every alarm bell in Sam's head.

"Finally got some after that bitch you abandoned me for." Dean smirks, it's chilling and Sam feels Ally's hands grip the back of his shirt tightly. “Word of advice, you might wanna work on your stamina.”

Dean's eyes slide to Ally, dark intent clear in them. The words sting for a millisecond, but Sam's grown up with these kinds of jabs from his brother, he's used to them and can usually shrug them off. But this _does_ linger, largely because of Dean's tone and demeanor. It's his voice but he's not the one home right now.

Sam isn't so much afraid as he is cautious. He knows how unpredictable this new version of his brother is, and no matter how sick it makes him feel, he wouldn't put sexual coersion past him at this point.

“Get the hell out, Dean!” Sam snaps.

“I was hoping for an encore.” His brother grins visciously, like a broken mask of his former self. “Maybe some audience participation.”

Ally retrieves her clothes and dresses hurriedly at those words, still hiding behind Sam, and he's trying to figure out how he can get them out of the room without making Dean lose it. Sam can tell he's been working hard on getting drunk, takes a lot more now that he's a demon, and he's very obviously strung out on booze and lust. It's nothing like his smarty-pants, womanizing, human brother, who'd saunter into a bar with a good-natured leer and hit on the first chick with big boobs. This Dean watches them both with calculating eyes, stands with his limbs loose but flexing, and Sam only hopes that there's no super speed to go with the souped up strength he knows Dean's sporting these days. This Dean's eyes are dead and it hits Sam with the first pangs of fear that his brother has been faking it since he turned. He's been waltzing around making noise about booze and women, and howling at the moon, when in reality he's become a stone cold killer.

“Ally,” Sam doesn't take his eyes off Dean, “get back to your room and lock the door.” He's speaking low, trying to keep her _and_ his brother from freaking out. She gets, thankfully aware enough to take the back door out of the library, allowing her to loop back to her room faster than Dean could get there if he went the other way round. But Dean doesn't seem to have any intention of leaving Sam just yet.

“All these books,” Dean runs his hands across the covers as he moves closer, “all this knowledge and you still couldn't save your brother, Sammy.”

Sam clenches his fists, knows Dean sees it, and tries to settle as solidly as he can on his patch of floor. All this posturing is Dean winding up for an attack, that much hasn't changed about him. Now if Sam can only get one over on him he might live through the night. He can hold his own, but doubts even his strength will be enough to defeat his brother now; after all, trying to predict Dean's moves is a double-edged sword, because he knows all of Sam's too.

Dean has circled around Sam, and is now on the right side of him to follow Ally through the library's rear door, which has left the main entrance wide open with a straight line to the exit. But Sam knows that his brother is banking on him sticking around, and he would be right. No way is Sam leaving a soldier behind in the demon's maniacal clutches. Her door won't hold for long and there's a substantial armament close at hand, not to mention a dungeon with shackles and chains. They could literally interrogate and torture someone for months and the outside world would be none-the-wiser. That thought makes his stomach flip-flop, but he doesn't get to feel the theoretical dread for long because Dean charges in with the real thing.

The impact lands squarely in Sam's solar plexus and he understands that Dean has decided to toy with him first. If he really wanted to incapacitate Sam he could have gone for a right hook straight out of the gate. Now Sam just has to stay in the game long enough for the demon to move on to the 'happy ending' portion of the night. It'll be his only chance to get the drop on his brother though he has to make sure to stop him before anything happens to Ally. It feels wrong to use her as bait, but desperate times and all that. Dean moves around and crowds Sam up against the table, throwing a punch that Sam manages to avoid by a hair's breadth. He throws himself forward and gets a shoulder in, pushing Dean back enough to have some swing room. Dean ducks the punch easily and returns with a left hook that sends Sam sprawling. He's aching and discombobulated but not quite unconscious when he hits the floor so he stays down, hoping the ruse will work. It does. His brother's footsteps dissappear down the hall, no doubt going to find Ally and do something they'll both regret. Sam has to hurry, but he also has confidence that she'll be able to hold Dean off long enough for him to get there.

 

 


	14. Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR NON-CON AND MILD GORE!
> 
> This turned so, so dark. I made Dean so evil in this #sorrynotsorry  
> But damn did Jensen do an amazing job playing Demon!Dean as fucking terrifying! I took that and rolled with it.
> 
> If you feel you'll get triggered, skip to the bottom and I'll put a summary in the notes there.

Ally's been pacing in her locked room for what feels like an eternity when she finally hears movement from outside; apparently Dean isn't trying to be stealthy. And why should he? Something is obviously juicing his rampage but she hasn't been able to deduce what flavor it is yet.

The doorknob rattles and she starts rummaging through her bags for her gun. The door bursts open behind her and she spins around, throwing the gun up with shaky hands. Dean steps into the low lighting of her chamber and she can't supress a gasp when she sees the black eyes. Her gun sinks slowly. A bullet won't stop him, and even if it would – she can't kill Dean Winchester, not when it's a demon riding him. Demons aren't her normal thing, so she has no holy water to fend him off, and she's never had to memorize an exorcism. No, she has to hold out and hope that Sam isn't already dead, that he'll come for her. The gun falls to her side. Dean smirks, blinking his eyes back to normal; in his hand he holds a hammer, loose and low by his thigh.

She backs up, trying to stay out of reach, but it only puts her further into the room. She's cornering herself, but if she can get Dean to follow, it may give her an opening to dart past him and make it out the door. He steps closer and she can't help but flick her eyes to the makeshift weapon, can't help shuddering at what damage it could do. Dean stops, notices her gaze and holds it up.

"This is for Sammy," he says, cold and disconnected; throws the hammer aside with a clang. "But you? I'll improvise."

She fights the urge to close her eyes, has to have her wits about her. But there's a look in his eyes as he moves slowly closer that has her pulse speeding. It predatory, predictably so, but what truly terrifies her is the emptiness. His eyes aren't even black and his gaze is so dark and empty it makes the abyss seem like a power outage. It sends a palpable chill across her skin as he closes the space between them, space charged with danger and suffering, a feeling that gets more acute the closer he gets, until, when he's standing a breath away from her, the air becomes hard to breathe. Like oozing evil clogging her throat.

"I know my Sammy. And if there's one thing he is, it's prude." His smirk turns into something darker, one hand snakes around to squeeze her bruised buttock, hard. She winces and a chuckle drips from his lips. “How about I show you what I can do?”

His other hand reaches for her face and without conscious thought she slaps it away, which seems to catch him off guard. So when he makes another advance she puts as much force as she can into slapping him across the cheek. He smiles cruelly at her, while her hand stings and her pulse beats out a frantic tattoo behind her ribs, in her throat. She's gearing up to hit him again when both of his hands shoot up and take hold of her throat. Her own hands flail against him in response as his fingers slowly close off her airway. She swings at him, connects with his ear, then his shoulder before her waning energy is spent.

He eases up on the choke but holds her firmly, and she drags in a desperate breath then tries to take a swing again. He pushes her back until she hits the wall, leans in close.

”Yeah, fight me... all you're doing is turning me on.” He leers at her.

She scrabbles at his shirt front, tries pushing him away but he's an immovable object. So she tries pulling his hands off her throat instead, but they won't budge – his demonic power insurmountable. Her brain snaps online again and she tries to scream, he tightens his grip and it strangles the sound in her throat.

“Sam's out cold.” Dean breaths. He lets up on her throat properly and she sucks in yet another ragged breath. “Imagine when he comes to, runs to save you but all he's gonna find is you split open and bleeding. Poor, poor Sammy.” Dean mocks.

He spins them around, moves forward so she trips over her own feet before he pushes her down onto the bed, straddling her thighs. His hands never leave her throat and his weight holds her in place as he fills her vision, breath gusting across her face. It smells of whiskey. ”I'll take that encore now.”

He procures a knife from behind his back and places the point under her chin, jabbing it in enough to draw a small bead of blood. She tips her head back, lip trembling, but instead of slicing her throat as she expects he sits back, lets up the preassure and drags the blade down her chest, between her breasts, down her stomach then angles it under the waistband of her jeans. He slices throught the fabric quickly, no-nonsense, but the sharp blade knicks her skin making her wince and moan. Then he's peeling the fabric away and cutting through her underwear, already stained with spots of blood. She feels her center bared to the world when he tickles the tip of the blade through her pubic hair, leans over her again and speaks low, ”Blade or bone, dealer's choice.”

“Sam!” She yells, the only thing her terrified mind can think to say, and his hand clamps over her mouth to cut off the sound. He's giving her a choice of being violated by the blade so dangerously close to her core or by his manhood. She shakes her head desperately, tries to scream behind his hot palm.

”Uh-uh. Make your choice, or I'll make it for you.”

She breathes hard, tears streaming from her eyes when she closes them tight. He peels his hand off her mouth. ”You got an answer for me?”

She sucks in a breath that rattles all the way down to her lungs. ”Bone,” she says, barely audible, feeling utterly defeated, and opens her eyes, figures through the shocky panic of her predicament that she's already had one dick inside her tonight, what's another in the grand scheme of things. The thought of the alternative brings with it a wave on nausea, because being violated by eight inches of razor sharp steel would be her end, obviously. It strikes her in a strange moment of peaceful clarity that, chosing the rape is realy no choice at all. Scalding hot water and therapy can take care of it after. Still, in the spirit of full disclosure with her own mind, it's not like she'd say yes if there was a third option. She shivers and bites back her tears.

Dean climbs off her, thankfully taking the blade with him, and she sees her chance, scrambles towards the other side of the bed, towards the door, but he catches her ankle and holds her fast.

”Oh no, darlin', no escaping. Or I'll slit your throat and fuck you after.” He punctuates the threat by pulling her ruined jeans off, spreading her legs wide. She twitches at his touch, fingers curling into the bed sheets as his hands go for his belt, and he must see her subconcious will to run again.

”Uh-uh-uh. What'd I say?” He taunts, abandons his flapping belt and takes the blade to the inside of her thigh, pushes it in slowly. She screams now, loud and crying, head tilted back and she sees movement from the corner of her eye in the doorway.

Sam comes barreling into the room, chest heaving and eyes wide – stopped dead in his tracks by the sight before him.

“Hiya, Sammy.” Dean twists the blade a fraction, making her whimper.

“Get away from her!” Sam growls, and he'd sound more threatening if not for the thread of fear in his voice.

“Think you can save her?” Dean replies conversationally, “Think you can save me?” He looks at his brother now, turning his gaze slowly, like he's not really willing to look away from his handywork.

Sam takes a step forward but stops when Dean jabs the blade in even deeper, making Ally moan in pain. The white-shot agony of the blade cuts through everything, makes her breath stop in her throat, her head swim. She grits her teeth against it and lazily rolls her head around to watch them with tear-filled eyes.

“I'm diggin' for a femoral artery here, so you better weigh you options. But don't make the mistake of thinking I won't kill her right now.”

“You won't kill her, Dean.” Sam says as calmly as he can. “Let her go.”

“Not a chance. She's my only leverage.” Dean smirks in a self-satisfied way and if she wasn't an inch away from bleeding out she'd tell him what she thinks about his attitude problem. He pops the button on his jeans as he adds, “Besides, haven't had my turn yet.”

Dean's eyes glint darkly as his fingers uncurl from the blade, but it's wedged a couple of inches into her leg and stays put when he lets go. He pulls down his zipper and moves toward her but Sam snaps out of his shock and pulls the flask of holy water from his pocket, throws the liquid at Dean, effectively distracting him. Dean's skin sizzles as he hisses in pain, turning angry, dead eyes at Sam.

“You want me to rip your throat out?” He grits out and advances on his brother. Ally tries to sit up but any movement sends pain shooting through her injured leg. They're scuffling now and before she's caught up to current events Sam has restrained his brother. Then he's hauling him out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Chapter from Ally's pov. Dean breaks into her room, tries to rape her and shoves a knife into her leg in the process. Thankfully Sam shows up before non-con can actually happen and gets Dean restrained.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through my sporadic posting. I think I'm finally getting an idea of where this fic will go :)


	15. Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's taken forever to update this. I'm still not sure where the story will go and I was too impatient to finish it before posting, so now I'm stuck writing chronologically, which is the Devil in my eyes...
> 
> But this chapter is as good as it's gonna get and, while I'm not entirely happy with the execution, this is a fic I intend to finish, even if it kills me.
> 
> Love you guys for the support so far, and I'll try to get the rest posted some time this century :P <3

Sam hurries back to Ally after securing Dean in the dungeon, and grabbing the med kit from the kitchen. She's pale and sweaty when he rushes in, kneels by the bed to assess the damage. He touches the knife handle lightly and she moans frantically.

“Don't.” She grits out.

“Gotta get that blade out.” His voice is breathy but he hopes reassuring enough.

Ally moans in agreement but keeps her eyes screwed shut. Sam takes his belt off, gets it under her leg as gently as possible but she still hisses and swears. His fingers brush against her naked sex as he works, wound so high up on her leg that there's barely any room to tourniquet the limb, and memories of only an hour ago rush back unbidden. He pushes them aside and focuses on saving her life, pulls off his shirt and shoves it at her, something to bite down on. She lays back against the mattress and pushes it between her teeth.

“Okay, ready?” Sam asks.

Ally takes a deep breath and nods.

“Okay,” Sam says again, bracing one hand on her thigh and the other taking a firm hold of the knife. “One, two-” He yanks the blade out and she screams through the gag, arching off the bed.

“Knew you were gonna do that...” she says breathily, after spitting out the shirt.

There's barely any blood seeping out, so he eases off the belt slowly, thankfully Dean didn't hit an artery and some tight bandaging should do the trick. He pours disinfectant over it, eliciting a colorful string of curses from her, then packs on some gauze and wraps it thoroughly with a sturdy bandage.

This whole time she hasn't made any move to cover herself, and it's not like he's been looking but Sam feels embarrassment on her behalf and thinks she must want to get dressed now. He grabs her duffel and roots around to find underwear, which he carefully pulls up her legs.

“Can you stand?” Sam asks, holding bunched panties around her knees and internally balking at the utter weirdness and tragedy of the situation.

“I think so.” She heaves herself upright with a firm but trembling grip on his shoulders. “There's no way I'll get jeans on over the bandage...” She drops to sitting as soon as the elastic of her panties snaps around her waist.

“Pajamas?” Sam asks.

Ally shakes her head. “Don't have any.”

“Ok, I'll grab some sweats for you.” He's up and heading towards the door before she calls him back.

“I'm coming.” She's pale and breathless and he thinks trying to walk is a stupid idea right now, but she's pushing herself off the bed before he can say so.

He steadies her, “I can carry you.”

“No.” She holds onto his t-shirt tightly, “I'm gonna walk. Just need help.”

“You should stay here.” Sam says but she's adamant.

“I'm walking, and you're helping me, and that's it.” She loops her arms around one of his and takes a tentative step.

She doesn't so much walk as hop to his room, but they make it there without her falling or passing out, which Sam is going to count as a win. He helps her pull on a pair of sweats he normally sleeps in and rolls up the ends for her as they're woefully too long.

“Where's Dean?” She asks once clothed again.

“Tied up in the dungeon,” Sam says quietly, looks into her eyes to see if there's a twinge of... anything.

“Good,” she nods, eyes staring off into the distance like they were that morning at the diner. He wonders how much this has fucked her up, and wonders when the shock will wear off and the breakdown come rolling in after it. Finally she looks down at him, where he's still kneeling at her feet, “I need a drink.”

It's so normal that he laughs, stands and helps her out into the library. She downs her whiskey in one big gulp, slams the glass down on the table and gives him a look that indicates he should pour another. He does.

Three glasses later she's got some color in her cheeks again, but there's still a distant look in her eyes and a slight tremble to her hands. “Guess it's time to exorcize him.”

Sam throws back his own glass and looks into the empty receptacle. Moment of truth. “We can't.”

“Why?”

“Because he's not possessed.”

Her eyes flame with something other than shock for a second. “What do you mean?”

Sam pours himself another glass, not looking at her. “It's... ah – it's all him.”

His heart aches at having to say those words, like they punctuate his failure, make it real. “Or, at least, it's kinda him. A demon version.”

Ally just stares at him. Suddenly, she slams her glass onto the table. “So all that shit wasn't some black-eyed fucker playing with me?”

He can hear the anger in her voice, how she's trying to hold it back, but there's also a touch of desperation, like she can't let herself believe that even a demon version of Dean would do that to her.

“Well, technically it was a black-eyed fu-” Sam tries to say lightly, brain short-circuiting and choosing the worst moment for levity.

“Where's the dungeon?” She pushes herself up with a wince.

“Ally...” Sam rises and moves to help her, or stop her.

“No.” She starts hobbling out of the library. “Where's the fucking dungeon, Sam?”

He sighs and follows, surprised that she doesn't pull away when he takes her arm. She's panting and trembling by the time they get to 7B.

“Stay here.”

“The hell I will! I've got some choice words to say to your brother!”

“Please!” Sam pleads, “Just wait here a minute.”

“Fine,” she grits out and he's opening the door, turns to see her eyes go wide then narrow when she gets a look at Dean, slumped in the chair at the center of the devil's trap.

He leaves the door wide open and moves to his brother.

 

 


	16. Ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's taken forever to get this updated. I've been crazy busy and had major writer's block for this fic.
> 
> Short chapter but at least the story can continue. Happy reading :)

Ally peeks around the jamb, watches Sam saunter up to his brother, who's bound in a chair in the middle of what she assumes is some kind of protective circle. Dean's chin rests against his chest, head tilting up only when Sam gets closer and steps aside to stay out of reach, giving her a clear view. She doesn't miss his eyes connecting with hers across the expanse between them before locking on to Sam with cold detachment, and just a sliver of resentment at being restrained.

“You cockblocked me, Sammy. Shame on you.” Dean's words drip icy and formidable into the charged silence.

“You played me, Dean. This whole time... you were just pretending.” Sam shakes his head, disappointment as easy to read in the slant of his shoulders, as it is to hear in his voice, even though he tries to hide it.

Dean gives away nothing. “Why's the piece of ass hiding in the hallway? She scared I'm gonna break free and finish what I started?”

Ally clenches her jaw angrily, still riding the anger enough to want to break his face. She shifts, but stops herself from moving as Sam continues to talk.

“You hid the cuffs, didn't you?” He asks, and Dean gives a nonchalant shrug. “What else have you been up to?”

“You mean besides booze, bitches and bar-hopping? Oh, just planning the most creative way to kill you.” Dean shrugs again like it's nothing, a small irrelevant detail. Ally wonders what cuffs Sam's talking about.

“You can try.” There's a breathy quality to Sam's voice which belies the bravado. “But right now you're not going anywhere, you're not hurting anyone else.”

The ropes creak as Dean flexes his wrists, an appropriately threatening noise.

“You think you scare me, little brother? I've been runnin' with the moon since I turned. This is what I was meant to be.”

“No, Dean. It's not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I can cure you!” Sam says emphatically. “I thought you'd be okay, but you've left me no choice, and I'm willing to take the risk.”

Dean tsks at him. “Oh, Sammy... So blinded by your loyalty to this family. If I wanted to be cured I'd have tied myself to this chair months ago. But you're not gonna cure me, any more than I'm gonna let you or the bitch leave here alive. So get off your high horse and with the program.”

“I tried, Dean, I really tried. Letting you be this... thing... But you showed your hand and you're no better than any of the black-eyed fuckers we've hunted. You're worse than Azazel, worse than Lucifer.”

“Ooh, ouch.” Dean chuckles. “Don't strain yourself trying to hurt my feelings. I just don't care.”

“Well I still care about you.” Sam shoots back.

Dean watches him acutely, head tilted back in a way that makes him seem more threatening than he should be while trussed up and unable to escape. “Lying's a sin, you know. And you don't want to be giving me any more excuses.”

“I'm not giving up on you.”

“Oh that's adorable, because you really mean that.” Dean sneers. “You're no better than me, Sammy. You're worse... You never could hunt as well as me, or Dad. And no matter how hard you try you'll always be the sucker who drank demon blood, let Lucifer free, started the apocalypse. How many innocent lives you got on your conscience now? A few hundred thousand? Face it, Sam, you're evil, you were born to this. And, I'll bet my balls, you're a little bit in love with it.”

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam seethes. He's obviously upset by Dean's crazy monologuing and Ally can't help the flair of hate she feels, knew about all of it nebulously but right now having it laid out so bluntly makes her angry. She pulls in a slow lungful of air and stays put. This isn't her fight, yet.

“This isn't my brother talking.” Sam says with what Ally's pretty sure is false confidence, even though she can't see his face to judge.

“It is.” Dean gives him a look full of erzats sincerity before it slips behind the blank mask of his new face. “I _don't_ care about you, Sammy. I stuck around 'cause I thought you might be useful. You weren't. I've spent a lifetime pushing your buttons, I know what makes you tick. Her, on the other hand, shiny new toy. And I'm gonna have so much fun breaking her.”

Dean's eyes flick to her and he licks his lips slyly. There's absolutely no expression on his face but the presumptiveness of his words comes across loud and clear in that little gesture. It pisses her off.

His gaze slides back to Sam as he continues. “First thing, I'll pick up where you so rudely interrupted. I'm gonna make her scream, and beg. I'll make her want it, need it, by the time I'm done. And then I'll throw her away...” He shrugs one shoulder.

His words make her blood boil, and she grips the jamb until her knuckles turn white. It might just be the trauma of recent events but standing by and listening to him mock and degrade her after everything isn't an option. To hear him dismiss her entire existence, even while she's wrapped up in this sordid mess of their lives, makes her hurtle into the room with fire in her belly and hate in her heart.

 


	17. Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... I don't even know what to say. I was kicking around ideas about where to take the story and this happened. Enjoy! *evil cackle*

Ally storms in as quickly as her busted leg will allow, anger plain on her face. She marches right up to Dean and clocks him with a right hook. His eyes meet hers and he smirks, “Still turnin' me on, darlin'.”

She punches him again. Dean smiles at her like Sam's seen him do to a hundred girls in a hundred small towns across the country, then raises his hips off the chair, jeans still open making the gesture as lewd as he intends it.

“I may be tied up, but you can still ride my-”

“Dean,” Sam warns. Dean drops his ass back to the chair with a small sigh.

His brother's eyes flick to him before returning to Ally.

“Better yet, how about you let me go. I'll give it to you way better than Sammy ever could. I'll even leave you breathing, promise.” He adds the last word in a whisper.

“Fuck you!” Ally shouts.

“That's the idea.” Dean smiles sweetly and Sam can see Ally's fist draw back. He hurries over and pulls her away before she can throw another punch, sets her down on a chair.

“You're a pig, Dean Winchester!”

“So cute when you talk dirty to me.” He sneers in reply.

“Shut up, both of you!” Sam interjects.

“Fuck you!” She snaps at him.

Sam frowns at her but lets it slide, isn't interested in baiting either of them into an argument. His intentions are moot because Dean apparently isn't done with his callous and manipulative lecturing.

“You think she loves you? Wants you? That she's worth it? She's a hole to warm your dick in. Though I will give you points for finally getting some after all these years. Thought you'd turned monk on me.”

Sam ignores him, even though Dean's taunting is wearing him down more than he'd like to admit. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs as quietly as possible. He has to get Alley to calm down and rest and he has to get some sanctified blood so he can start on curing his brother. Leaving them alone in the bunker makes him nervous, but the king of hell has been held in this trap for days at a time, and surely Dean can't be much more powerful than Crowley. He'll gag Dean first, though, doesn't want Ally trying to confront him, or Dean trying to wheedle his way into her mind while he's gone.

Sam pulls a strip of cloth from the side cupboard then steps up to his brother and Dean swipes his legs out from under him, sending Sam to the floor. While he's sprawled there he sees Dean yank his wrists up, snapping the ropes, and he's got a hand around Sam's throat before the younger can react.

Sam's first thought, after the mind-numbing fear that Dean's about to snap his neck, is wondering if Ally will charge in and try to help. He hopes not, for her sake.

“Th-thought you were go-gonna be creative?” He chokes out as Dean's grip tightens.

Dean shrugs. “I'm making the best of the situation. Besides, I've still got the bitch to have fun with.” His eyes roll towards where Ally's seated. Sam can't move his head enough to see her but hears the chair fall over as she shuffles further out of reach.

Dean's lips curl in a small smile then his eyes snap back down to Sam. “How does it feel, knowing that I'm the one to choke the life out of you once and for all?” Dean growls as Sam's eyes flutter shut. “No one left to bring you back this time, Sammy.”

His tone is mocking and cruel and Sam thinks with an air of calm acceptance that this is the end, the real end, when Dean's grip slackens, shifting to Sam's jaw instead. Sam's eyes slowly open as air fills his lungs again, and Dean's black eyes are boring into his.

“No...” Dean chuckles, throws his head back and the laughter rises to a maniacal guffaw. Sam wishes he could check to see where Ally is but Dean's hand is like a vice and he still can't turn his head at all. When his brother's demonic eyes fall back to him they're twinkling with what can only be described as mischevious glee. “I have a better idea.”

Dean smiles evilly and then rips his wrist open with his teeth, extending the limb over Sam's face and Sam watches in horror as the dirty red trails over pale skin, drop growing large and heavy before it falls. It bursts over his tongue like a firework, and he can feel the tremor down to his toes. It's been so long and he didn't think he'd ever want this again, but the hunger curling in his stomach says otherwise, drowning out the fear. He thought Ruby's blood was good, but it's generic grape soda compared to the finest merlot in Dean's veins. He doesn't even notice at first that Dean's hand is gone, not until he's freely moving towards the lacerated skin inches above his face, entirely of his own accord. He latches onto Dean's wrist like a starving vampire, teeth worrying into the wound, erasing the imprint of his brother's with his own fervent feeding. The world melts away as the power of demonic ichor blooms into every cell of his being. He can taste the obsenity, feel it echo back from creation like a monstrous howl in the dark.

He tries to hold on to himself, to the morality that steers him through life, but it fades away as quickly as he can swallow the blood filling his mouth, until there's nothing but a desolate chasm inside him, emptier even than when he walked without a soul.

When his stomach is full he detaches with a gasp, heart pounding frantically, muscles trembling.

“Tastes good, doesn't it?” Dean smiles down at him, gentle now.

Sam looks around, like he can really see the world for the first time, as Dean continues speaking calm and quiet, the way he did when Sam was little.

“This is nothing like that traitorous bitch's blood, fueling your psychic gift. My blood is gonna burn away every last trace of your humanity, Sam. It's going to make you into the perfect beast. You thought living without your soul was liberating? Wait till you try this high.”

Sam pushes to his feet, steadier than he should be, but with the taint riding him he feels the effects of the devil's trap and he turns a questioning look to his brother. Dean smiles, unconcerned, then lifts his foot, stomping it back down. The concrete cracks, splitting the trap and continuing halfway to the door.

Ally gasps from the corner, where she's huddled, hand going over her mouth like that can erase the sound. Sam looks at Dean and is met with a smile so depraved he can't help but match it, not really knowing why as he turns to the broken and battered hunter on the floor of their hidden stronghold. He wants to feel bad, expects guilt to bloom in his gut, but it never comes, just more of the emptiness Dean's blood created, and he steps in line with his brother as they go to her.

 


End file.
